


make you feel something

by nefertiti



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Female Feuilly, Female Grantaire, Fluff, Grantaire Ship Week, Rule 63, body painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefertiti/pseuds/nefertiti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Feuilly had first met Grantaire, all she could think was, “What a waste.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	make you feel something

When Feuilly had first met Grantaire, all she could think was, “What a waste.” She felt bad about it later because Grantaire, all faults aside, was a genuinely good person. She liked her and she ended up being one of her closest friends, so she hated thinking about her like that. But she couldn’t _help_ thinking that she just had so much she could do, so much she could _be_. She was a good dancer, but she rarely danced and she’d stop taking lessons because she’d gotten bored with it. Her art was impeccable, but she barely went to school even though she had the opportunity to learn from some of the best artists in the country. She could kickbox with Bahorel and win, but every time she got in a barfight she’d let the other person beat the living daylights of her. She just seemed so content to drift through life being a jack of all trades and a master at none. And Feuilly didn’t know why it bothered her so much at first. Maybe it was because Grantaire had so many opportunities where she had so little. She could do things Feuilly can’t even dream about doing, and she didn’t just ‘cause? But that was a part of her psyche that Feuilly was not interested in looking into. Still, it was infuriating. She didn’t want to judge, but it bothered her more than she could explain.

However, it wasn’t her wasted potential that later defined Feuilly’s opinion of her. If it was, they’d never be friends. It was her kindness and even more, her generosity. Grantaire was many things, but above all she was a good person.

They shared exactly one thing in common and that was art.

Feuilly wasn’t sure how good she was at painting, but Grantaire was amazing. Anytime she _told_ her that, she would either blush and shrug it off, or laugh and shrug it off. Feuilly noticed that she didn’t like being told that she was good at things, even if she was. Still she showed Feuilly what she knew. All the things that Feuilly learned on her own (brush strokes, space, colour, how to use her eye) Grantaire taught her from a more technical perspective. Grantaire was good at explaining things if you really listened to her. She got carried away with her words more often than not, flinging them about carelessly, veering from one topic to the next with a somewhat frenzied speed and it was sometimes easy to miss what she was saying if you weren’t paying attention. Feuilly wasn’t sure if she wielded her words as a weapon, a mask or a distraction but either way it got the job done. People usually either ignored her when she started talking or cut her off right at the climax. Sometimes she looked relieved when that happened, other times disgruntled.

Feuilly wrote stories in her head about her. She tried not to think about how creepy that was and was consoled by reminding herself that she did that with all of her other friends too. Think up stories in her head about them. She was quiet and better at looking than speaking, observing than giving speeches. And she was an artist. To her, everything, every movement, every lilt or quiver in your voice had an untold story. She would never say that out loud. It sounded far too _starry-eyed dreamer_ for her taste. Jehan would appreciate it. She wasn’t sure if Grantaire would , but she knew she _would_ understand.

* * *

 

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” Grantaire had asked her from where she was on the floor. Feuilly was mixing her paints and aligning her brushes more than she really needed to. They were in Grantaire’s two bedroom flat in the “studio” room. It wasn’t much of a studio really, it was just a room with nothing in it, but the light was perfect and the floor was always covered with white paper sheet. She liked Grantaire’s flat. In the wider scale of things it was small, but it was bigger than any flat Feuilly had ever lived in and every time she’d been over, it just felt so warm and lived in.

“Vines of cherry blossoms on your stomach I think.” Feuilly replied.

“Don’t think. Know.” Grantaire replied haughtily using what she called her best _“pretentious art teacher”_ voice.

Feuilly rolled her eyes and gestured for her to take her shirt off. Grantaire easily complied, shrugging out of it and taking her bra off for full measure.

“What?” She asked at Feuilly’s shocked expression. “I paid good money for this bra, I’m not getting paint all over it.”

Feuilly’s face warmed, because that really was a reasonable response. Still she mumbled “It can wash off.” ducking her head, but Grantaire most likely didn’t hear her because she just lied there, stretching her body to make her waist and belly look longer.  

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Feuilly sat next to her and took a breath before starting. She tried to keep her focus on what she was painting, vines crawling across Grantaire’s stomach and pretty flowers blooming from the tangle, but Grantaire kept stroking her arm. She tried not to let it affect her, but she could feel her face warming and she knew exactly how red she got when that happened. It was strange because she never thought about Grantaire that way before. Grantaire was always her friend, but now she felt like she was a moment away from giving up and kissing her senseless and she really hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. She chanced a glance at Grantaire and from the smirk playing across her face, she knew it showed.

“Shit.” Grantaire said suddenly causing Feuilly to look back at her painting, and shit indeed. She had squeezed the tube of white paint she was holding in her hand harder than she thought and it was all over Grantaire’s stomach, the pink and green almost disappearing below it.

“Fuck.” She grabbed the damp cloth she’d kept beside her and started dabbing on the paint. “I’m sorry. Shit. I’ll...”

“It’s okay.” Grantaire took her hand and stilled it. She took a dollop of paint on one of her fingers and swiped it on Feuilly’s nose. “Really. It’s okay.”

Feuilly stared at her for a few moments and she knew it was probably getting uncomfortable for Grantaire but she really couldn’t stop staring. 

She was so busy staring at her face she didn’t notice that Grantaire had got her hands in the paint until she dragged her hand down her neck leaving a trail of sea blue.

She laughed at Feuilly’s stunned expression. Then, before she knew it, it suddenly became different colour paints being flung at each other, running and loud and out of breath laughter until Feuilly finally tackled her down (and _really_ she didn’t even put up a fight) and pressing her hand on her face. “I win.” She smirked.

And it was so ridiculous that they both just burst out in laughter.

They kept laughing until their sides hurt and they couldn’t anymore. And then they were just looking at each other. Grantaire made the first move, pulling her threadbare shirt over her head and pulling her down into a chaste kiss. Feuilly never bothered with bras. She didn’t have the tits or the money for it is what she used to say. So her chest was bare and it was pressed against Grantaire’s and their mouths were hovering over each other’s, as though they were both daring each other to make the first move. Grantaire was the one who did again. She captured Feuilly’s mouth with hers and Feuilly melted into the kiss. They took their time, tasting one another as though it were something sacred that would never happen again. Grantaire ran her hands through her hair and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. She whimpered when Grantaire licked into her mouth and tugged at her hair.

After that everything was a blur of hands groping, mouths tasting, nails scratching, heat and biting and seeking friction.

* * *

 

“We’ll try again next time yeah?” Feuilly asked from where she and Grantaire lay trading lazy kisses, the room and their bodies a mess of paint and a red handprint directly on Grantaire’s cheek.

“I get to do you next time.” Grantaire grinned, trailing her fingertips down Feuilly’s chest. “I’ll paint Starry Night all over the front of your body. There’ll be stars on your tits and everything.”

Feuilly tucked her face into her neck and she couldn’t help but laugh and laugh.

“I’m gonna hold you to that you know?” She mumbled into the crook of her neck when their laughter subsided.

“I know.” Grantaire replied stroking her hair. And that was that. 

**Author's Note:**

> -Very heavily based on [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m4f3a5zKZ81rwegl4o1_500.jpg) picture  
> -Writing from Feuilly's perspective was such a challenge for me. I don't know if I could ever do it again.  
> -Title comes from this quote from Eleanor & Park "She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."  
> -The starry night painting R was talking about would look something like [this](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/Starry_night_body_painting.jpg/819px-Starry_night_body_painting.jpg)  
> -If you have any questions please feel free to ask. Comments and constructive criticism are both greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading.


End file.
